Mohabbot Blurb | Med School au
It was a loaded question. A few hours ago, the answer would’ve been completely different. Back then, she hadn’t been two gin and tonics into a buzz she wasn’t used to. Samira didn’t usually go out, like ever. Most of her nights off were spent with her head buried in a textbook. She certainly had no intention of going to a bar with Jack Abbot of all people, but he insisted on her coming after he found her in the supply closet this afternoon in tears. Fucking Robby.
“I feel we need another round,” she quipped, slurping down the melted ice from the bottom of her glass. Without waiting for a response, she was sliding out of the booth, crawling over his lap in the process. She almost lost her balance until his hands came up to steady her. “What’re you doing, Mohan?”
“I’m getting us more drinks.”
“I think…” He grunted, flinching as her knee just missed his groin. “Jesus Christ.”
Samira ignored him and wove her way toward the bar. She could feel his eyes on her. He wasn’t exactly subtle.
His reaction to her arrival had almost made the bad day worth it. The second she’d walked into the bar, his voice broke mid-sentence, a subtle pink hue tinting his cheeks. Samira blamed the green top. Her old college roommate had insisted she keep it. Said it turned heads. The twisted fabric clung in a way her usual Adam Sandler wardrobe didn’t.
Her limbs were starting to feel like jello now. The music from one of the old, beat-up jukeboxes made her body want to start swaying to the beat. Maybe it was the gin. Or maybe it was the fact that Jack Abbot had spent the better part of the evening looking at her like she'd hung the moon.
“What can I get for you?” The bartender asked.
“Two more gin and tonics…”
“Two waters, actually.” A voice appeared over her shoulder. She turned to find Jack standing beside her, one hand pressed onto the countertop.
A minute later the bartender returned with two waters, and Samira stared blankly at them. "Drink up,” Jack gestured.
"You love it. Trust me, you’ll thank me when you don’t wake up with a headache.”
Samira stuck her tongue out at him. It was a childish move that only made him smile harder. She grabbed one of the waters and took a sip. "There. Happy?"
Once they slid back into the booth, Samira reached across the table and plucked the Pittsburgh Pirates hat from his head.
"Hey." Before he could stop her, she'd already placed it onto her own head. The brim slipped low over her eyes. She pushed it back with a grin and traced the embroidered P on the front with her thumb.
"Are you going to give it back?" Jack asked.
Without the hat, his auburn curls sprang free. Samira stared at them. She'd seen his hair before, obviously. They'd spent enough time together over the last two years of med school. "You have pretty hair."
A cocky grin spread across his face. Teeth and all. "Oh, we're complimenting each other now?"
"We're not complimenting each other."
"You just called me pretty, Mohan. I think that’s a compliment."
"I called your hair pretty. There’s a difference." Her gaze drifted back to his curls. Before she could think better of it, Samira reached up and caught a curl between her fingers. It was ridiculously soft. It didn't seem fair. "How is your hair softer than mine? Do you have a routine?"
Samira looked unconvinced. "What shampoo do you use?"
He shrugged. "A two-in-one."
Samira released the curl. "No, you're lying."
"I'm not. Been using the same bottle for years."
She'd spent a small fortune trying to tame her curls. Her bathroom was filled with Ouidad leave-in conditioner, Curlsmith creams, and SheaMoisture masks. And somehow Jack Abbot had better hair using a bottle he probably bought at a gas station. "That's bullshit."
"Sounds like someone's jealous. There’s no need to be. Your hair's beautiful too, Mohan."
“Whatever,” she huffed, turning away before he could notice the flush creeping up her neck.
“Why don’t we get you home?” he suggested. He reached for his wallet, tossed a few bills onto the table, and stood. “I’ll give you a ride.”
Samira opened her mouth to argue, but Jack was already holding out a hand to help her from the booth.
A few minutes later, they stepped out into the cool night air. The chill bit at her bare arms, drawing a sharp breath from her lungs. Beside her, Jack shrugged into his jacket and nodded toward the curb. His silver car sat beneath a streetlight at the end of the block, its paint gleaming in the amber glow.
He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. The interior light flickered on, spilling over the dashboard and leather seats. Samira slid in, and Jack leaned in, tugging the seatbelt across her.
“So stubborn. Just let me help you.”
“We should go to the library,” Samira announced, digging through her purse as Jack climbed in. “I have my flashcards with me. I was reviewing neuro... no, wait. Vascular.”
Jack raised a brow. “You’re studying right now?”
“Yes,” she informed him, pulling out a bent stack of cards. “First, you prep the vessel, and then you...” She squinted at the card, her lips moving silently. “Then you isolate the artery, and if there’s a complication you have to...”
Jack leaned in, glancing at the card. “Control the proximal and distal flow before you clamp. Then you test collateral circulation. If it’s unstable, you don’t proceed. You reassess perfusion.”
Samira stared at him. It shouldn't have surprised her. Jack was second in their class, right behind her. “You’re almost as smart as me.”
“That was pretty impressive,” she murmured, tucking the flashcards back into her purse.
Jack leaned back into the driver's seat, looking far too pleased with himself. “Careful, Mohan. Keep complimenting me like that and I might start thinking you like me.”
His grin only widened as he started the car. “You’ll see. You’re gonna fall in love with me soon enough.”
